Possibles

 Caution: Non-proofread material ahead!!

4:00pm, Friday August 5

It's been awhile since I felt compelled to write anything. This is due in part to some lingering sea-sickness through the last two trips, and in part to the fact that we've been either sitting on our hands in port or hauling up close to empty nets for three weeks now.

You can imagine the compounded demoralization writing about all of this would create.

And you might imagine that if I'm writing now it's because things are better....

Well, we were stuck in port the last couple of days trying to get our refrigeration fixed, and waiting for Paul's girlfriend whose flight ended up getting cancelled. Once we found out she couldn't make it Thursday, we fueled up the boat and cast off heading to the southwest section of Kodiak Island for the first time all season. The guys and I were pretty excited, as so far we had only really fished two areas, and our consistent bad luck at one of those areas (and the Skipper's consistent choice to return to said area) had pretty much made us sick of the eastern top of the island.

About four hours in to our trip, we emerged from the foc'sole to see the windmills and buildings of Kodiak. That's weird, we thought. Soon enough we were informed that, though they were catching "some fish" down southeast (one of the Skipper's favorite understatements), it was too windy and snotty seas for his liking. So there we were passing Kodiak going back towards our old unlucky haunts. On the way, about two hours out, we stopped at a bay fronted by three small islands where two other boats were fishing. Actually ended up doing pretty well here: in 5 hours we made 4 sets and probably hauled in about 4500 pounds, a decent spattering of dogs and reds mixed in with the less lucrative pinks that make up the largest runs at this time of year.

Great, we thought, we're actually catching fish. Maybe we'll stay here a few days?... Not quite. We woke up to a wind our Skipper said tends to blow all the fish out of that area leaving it completely empty. So this morning, once more, we shook ourselves up from some dozing to see we were passing Kodiak again, heading south. About one hour later we came on an area the skipper wanted to try. After a forty minute wait, he apparently got some intel about prohibitive shallows (our net is deeper than many) and away we went again.

Eff.

About three hours later, we showed up at our current location. Of course, none of us crew members have any idea where we are. We did one set and hauled up about 2,000 pounds of jellyfish. They were kind enough to leave 20 fish in our net, which we pulled paralyzed from the 22 inch deep jellyslop all over the deck. Like most areas, this one has 3-5 sites that seem the most productive to set at. Suffice it to say we moved down a few hundred yards from jellyzone to try another set where people were catching some fish. Just as we got the net laid out and the deck cleaned, Paul radioed in a problem to the skipper.

Fuel leak in the skiff. Five gallons already lost. One end of the net dead in the water. Of course.

So we backpiled the net on to the deck and waited for the bad news. I went for a beer to help take the edge off my despair. You see, I stayed on an extra two weeks—differing a trip to Portland to see a good friend, and fam time back home—as the pinks generally run strong at this time, and the guys and me could see some more $1,000 days if we ever actually find some fish. We may (Meh) have earned that much in the last 15 days.

  

Usually this sort of a radio announcement from Paul sees us securing the skiff and rigging and heading post haste back to town. We seem to have gotten lucky though. Paul looked around and figured out that one of the fuel hoses seems to have merely slipped off its fitting.

One Pabst Blue Ribbon.

One Fifteen minute fix.

Back on track?

Like so many things in this entry, that remains to be seen. We headed to the other side of this bay to see what we can find. We'll probably be setting here in a few minutes. Maybe it was a good omen that a potentially serious problem had such a simple solution. Maybe this site will produce some lucrative sets for us. Maybe the pinks will slam in and I won't regret staying on longer up here. Maybe I'll end up zooming back home for three days before heading to Mississippi and school with an extra couple grand in my pockets.

Maybe.

11:35am, Sat August 6

Last night turned out alright.

We drove across the bay to another set site where the Kilokak was doing some work. Had four or five solid sets (800-1200 pounds) and worked till just after ten. Last set was a heartbreaker. We just had the powerblock* teeth re-welded to beef up its gripping power, and until some of the metal added to the teeth wears down it tugs extra-strong on the leadline, outstripping the corkline as we pile the net on deck. This has been leaving us with extra corks in the water at the end of some of our sets--and extra corks in the water means the fish can spill out when we're hauling up the last few fathoms to dump the fish on the deck. So that last set was a heartbreaker because we lost about half of a 1200-2000 pound set that way.

Today has been scratchy but productive. Made our first set a little after 6 am, and did 3 or 4 decent scratch sets averaging 100-120 fish (400-500 pounds). I guess our last set got the captain thinking the fish were dropping off because we lit out across the bay right after. Drove around for about an hour checking out potential set sites and met up with the boat we were fishing next to. Sure enough they pulled in 20 fish on their last haul.

Skipper radioed down from the tophouse to let us know we were going to anchor up so he could take a long nap, and to make sure I knew how to spell "useless" when I describe him in this blog entry. I think he's a little miffed that he hasn't put us on major fish today.

C'est la vie. Of course, we'd always rather be slaying lots of fish, but I wanted some time to work on a couple projects anyway. I might even do some illegal sports fishing (the other two crewmembers bought sports fishing licenses; as long as there's only a total of two lines in the water, I have a hard time being concerned about which of us is jigging them).

Well, having finished a novel while performing the sacred morning rituals today, I guess it's time for...

Novel Opinions!

Cormac McCarthy is, or at least has been, one of my favorite writers. Earlier in the year I finished Blood Meridian (19--), which many call his masterpiece, and found myself rather underexcited. For me, it didn't measure up to his work in Child of God (19--), The Road (19--), or even All the Pretty Horses (199-), all of which are powerful books. The latest read is called The Orchard Keeper (197-). It's one of his first published books, and reads like it. The action and character work—when any of either manage to sneak into the novel—are engaging despite being quite experimental. However, nearly half of any given page is filled with overwritten landscape descriptions pertaining to locations in which the reader has no clear stake. Additionally, these descriptions read as if McCarthy was preoccupied with using every archaic descriptor, meteorological term, and rare coinage he could, perhaps to cross them all off some list for pretentious writers.

Set in the Appalachian backcountry surrounding Knoxville, TN—and occasionally venturing into the city itself—The book is principally concerned with three or four characters: Marion Sylder, a local whisky-runner; John Wesley Barrett, a pre-adolescent befriended by Marion; and Arthur Ownby (Uncle Ather), an aging intriguing character from whom the novel takes its name. There are quite a few journalistic moments—detailing a Knoxville crowd on market day in the '40's, lengthy discussions of the mountain region, etc—that add to a sense McCarthy was attempting to encapsulate a particular moment and culture in order to preserve its memory.

For my money, I call Eudora Welty's Delta Wedding—set in the same interwar period—a much more even, compelling, and altogether successful attempt.

A lot of people say southern writers of any ambition have to write through Faulkner in order to arrive at their own voice. That definitely rings true here as the tone, literary devices such as italics to represent memories that interrupt the "present" action, and even the purposely obtuse plotlines call to mind a lot of Faulkner's Absalom! Absalom! and The Sound and the Fury. So, at the end of the day, I was hoping McCarthy might be an exception to the rule that the early work of great authors is often rather dull and I was disappointed. Still, if you like McCarthy, the novel is a fascinating place to see him working with a lot of the devices he would later hone to craft much more powerful works (i.e. an acute sense of place, more useful coinages, judicial use of archaic wording, intriguing obtuseness in plot and character development rather than near-opacity).

Meanwhile, back in Alaska...

The guys are napping, and the alarm just beeped on some fresh coffee, so it looks like a perfect opportunity to tackle some other writing.

Including today, I've just got three more days of fishing left. We've sort of adapted dear, sweet, 8 pound, 11 ounce Baby Jesus [link: Taladega Nights] as our patron this summer. Hopefully, once the sleepers awake, he'll come through with a few big sets to boost my summer paycheck.

*suspended from the boom, the power block is a large—about 28 inch diameter—aluminum wheel run with a hydraulic motor that we use to pull the net back on to the deck.

Fizzlers

8:30 am, Sun July 17

Currently on the tail end of a five day trip up to Malina Bay. Pretty scratchy fishing. After a day or so in port last week, we did laundry, showers, and shopping; filled up with ice at the cannery; and drove out around 8pm.

That night took watch with the Skipper and drove north through Whale Pass and the Narrows to anchor up in a bay at the top end of the Narrows. Next day arrived in Malina to rolling and choppy seas. Made a couple sets before we anchored up to wait for the weather to come down.

Shitty sleep throughout this trip began that night; after the weather and a few sets, we anchored at the exposed mouth of the bay rather than drive in to one of the smaller coves. Rocked and rolled all blessed night. Woke up groggy to more scratch fishing. Tendered that night, then two more days grinding it out to today.

Yesterday actually showed some promise—a couple of 150+ fish hauls. But those dropped off pretty quick. We tendered again last night; the boat was called the Kendra D. The crew was more chummy with us than any of the other tender crews, and the guy running it chatted with us as we sorted fish up on the line. His name is Val and he owns a place called the Rendezvous a few miles past the airport. Skipper said it's a nice little tavern; hope to check it out some time.

Today is pretty meager like the others. We've been at it for about 5 hours. Misunderstood the Skipper and thought we'd be heading back to town today. Terrible fishing hasn't made that disappointed expectation any better.

11:00 pm, Sun July 17

Fishing didn't get any better, though we did pull in a bunch of kings, including one massive, beautiful 30 pounder (unfortunately, we don't get paid for kings, so most of these we field dress for personal use). We tried a different area of the bay in the afternoon though, and on the way over I caught about 20 minutes of bunk time that made me a brand new man. As the afternoon dragged on, the Skipper finally decided that 100 lb. hauls didn't justify missing the tide and our chance to get into town tonight, so we beat feet back to Kodiak, dumped the fish, picked up some ice for our Kings and tied up at the dock.

So it's back to the old moorage. Back to our charter boat neighbor on one side, and pungent wafts of ganja from the beer-slammers on the other. Back to cell service, fresh water in abundance, and cannery showers.

Home sweet...something.

Ronnie Dunn single we love to shout along with (don't knock it till you try it! ...And a couple 14 hour days and cans of American Flag Budweiser might help): Bleed Red

10:50pm, Tues July 19

Leaving from a two day town visit to go back out tonight or tomorrow. Hope some of the runs are picking up for the last mandatory opener here. We'd all really love to go out and catch a few boatloads of fish and see these rumors of a Biblical season come true. Especially after all that scratch fishing. Vamos a ver...

Four-Day Opener

10am, July 8

Just finished our second set in a six boat line. Left anchor at 4:30 am this morning and showed first at our spot. Yesterday was a good day: nearly 9,500 lbs of fish, and over 3,000 of those reds (which go for twice the price of the dog salmon that are also running right now). The first set today was respectable—probably about 300 fish (about 1,500 lbs). Second was just 184.

Spirits are good, but we're all pretty whipped. Only had about four hours for sleep last night, and that was spotty since our sleeping quarters are right next to the engine room. We had to go the whole night with the engine on to keep the circ. running (that's the circulation system for the Refrigerated Sea Water [RSW]). This last set also hit us pretty hard on deck: had to deal with a lot of kelp and some tangled lead lines.

We're about to finish a movie and hopefully get some solid naptime, as we've got nearly a two-hour wait before we can set again. Which brings us to....

Movie Deets!

Today we're talking about Outlaw Justice, an early 2000's film (?) featuring Travis Tritt, Willy Nelson, and some of the worst acting combined with the most self-indulgent "star" control I've seen. It may rival The Polar Bear King on the slop-scale, if you're at all familiar with that winner. Someone should've fired whatever flopped sitcom screenwriter they got to write this thing. Speaking of writers, here's...

Novel Opinions!

Finished a novel, Inherent Vice (2010), by Thomas Pynchon a few days back. Not a bad read, though there's plenty of drugs and sex. Set in L.A. in the early 70's, it's sort of a stoner-detective fiction novel, riffing on the hard-boiled genre. I think Pynchon—a fairly serious, and for many a very important writer—wanted to capture the 60's as a moment/era of possibility that is fading from the screen, to be followed by corruption (think Charles Manson, Richard Nixon & company...) in the present day of the novel.

Funny enough, as certain "evil" characters turned out to be just as much played as playing, and just as susceptible to forces like love and intimidation, the thing actually reminded me a hell of a lot of Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday, and I wonder if Pynchon had that in mind. That'd be a weird/interesting pairing.

Anyway, P.T. Anderson (dir. Boogie Nights, Magnolia) is supposed to be making it into a movie currently, which I'm stoked to have heard about from a friend, as I thoroughly dig what I've seen of his work.

Started yesterday on McCarthy's The Orchard Keeper (1965). So far so good, though—predictably—it's pretty grisly. The style is engaging and he seems to be working out his attention to scenery and seasons: Appalachian setting, bootlegging, a mysterious old man who guards some woods, a concrete cistern with a dead body inside it, events only half told. Interesting stuff. Maybe good source material for my buddy Bret's Thunder Road/moonshine movie script?

That's it for right now—time for crappy cinema. Here's some miscellany...

Quote of the day (so far):

Skipper (as he turns to a crew member, vegetable in hand, following the crew's delayed response to his request for a chips and salsa snack): "Good, I thought you had forgot; you almost made me eat a ****ing carrot."

Vid List (what the crew are currently telling each other they gotta see):

Leroy Jenkins Halo

Chronic of Narnia Rap

12:00pm, July 10

Yesterday we made our biggest set yet—potentially in the range of 6,000 lbs. Combined with our work on the 8^th we dropped off over 22,000 lbs at the tender last night. A steak dinner (courtesy of our 18 inch Cabela's propane grill) was a fitting end to a day that saw us haul in upwards of 12,000 lbs. of salmon, despite being in a seven boat line all day and making only four sets.

Today, the 10^th, has been strong, but doesn't seem to be of quite the same magnitude. We arrived first to our spot this morning and had a very nice first and second set. After our second set, the skip decided to go straight out and try one on the "outside."*

It was not a success.

We saw salmon jumping as we lay out and everything looked good, but the current seemed to push our cork line around, our leads were a little jumbled, and we had to stop repeatedly to pull kelp out of the net. Final count on the set: 3 fish.

At least one was a silver.

Spirits are still good though; it looked fishy and we gave it a shot. If the set had come in, the line would be moving faster (always two boats setting rather than one) and everyone would be catching more fish. We lost nothing but energy. Um, lots of energy...

Speaking of which, it's getting harder to get mobile in the mornings.

And while it is frustrating to have a boat line like ours, it can also be a mercy when you're rolling out of bed at 5am to pull the release cord on the skiff and clean the deck before you've had a chance to swallow down a gulp of coffee or cereal.

It's during these early sets that the boat line you loath, the line that ties your hands after you've just made a giant haul, the line of boats you wish would get sick of milling about so you don't have to wait so long to dip back into your honey hole, that two hour line becomes a godsend. Because that's two hours for odd jobs, necessaries like cooking and cleanup, and—most generously—sleep.

Just get on shoes and sweater so you can pull the release cord. Just clean and prep the deck. Just plunge a little. Just get your raingear on. Just plunge a little more. Just get the net stacked and hauled in. Just get through this set. Just do this and you can shuck off your neoprene exoskeleton, dry your face, crawl down the stairs and back into your bunk. You might even slip into unconsciousness before the skipper comes on to the PA and announces it's time to pick the anchor.

Mornings are tough, but we seem to fall into a rotating sleep schedule. One night we'll come in around 7:30pm. After dinner, clean-up, odd prep work for the next day, we slip into the bunks by 10:30 or so. Then it's up at 4:30am. Conditioned by repetition, you can make your body roll out of the bunk before you're even conscious enough to realize how silly the idea of "awake" is at this point. That night we might work later. Make one more set. Eat dinner at midnight. Get up again by five. Work through the day. By the third night, batteries drained, we'll sleep in; maybe miss the first turn and show up at our spot near 7:00. Then we're juiced up for another round.

Like the two-hour line, repetition is a mixed mercy. You may feel like a lead sack start to finish, but already, with less than a month of deck work, once the hands touch the net, the body starts working without asking questions.

*Most purse-seiners set with the boat or skiff along the shore of a bay or point and the other end of the net laid out to catch the fish as they school at the set spot. In the Kodiak fishery, the general rule lets a boat tow for half an hour to allow the fish to stack up. As the boat and skiff turn in toward each other to close the circle of the net, the next boat in line will lay out its own net, either in "front" of the closing net, or "behind" that set. With a long line, the fishermen might decide to follow this "inside" set along the shore with an "outside" set, just beyond the far end of the boat after them. Thus boat A sets inside, closes, boat B sets inside, boat A sets right after them, boat B closes, boat A closes and anchors up in line, boat C sets inside, boat B sets outside, etc... I know. Riveting. You can hardly wait for more details. If you're very (un)lucky, sometime I might explain to you how our diesel stove works...

How to Catch A Salmons

 July 4, 9am

  

Of course, there are at least as many ways to catch a fish as skin a cat. For instance, Paul is an accomplished sport fisher and I think it's especially strange for him to see so many and such beautiful fish running straight into our hold each set. We and the rest of the fleet do catch quite a few; however, since the state took over the fishery from the Japanese, the Alaska salmon industry has become one of the most well-managed sustainable agro-industries on the planet.

The basic concept behind our work is fairly simple: lay out a net, tow on it so the fish bunch up, haul in the net and dump the fish in the boat. However, the actual practice of the craft--the knowing of where and when to fish, of the dozen or so sub-trades necessary to keep a vessel functional (net-sewing, engine repair, carpentry, welding...), that actual practice is as full of challenge, complexity, and risk as any.

As I've mentioned, our boat is outfitted for a type of fishing called seining or purse-seining (as opposed to dragging, or gill netting with drift- or set-nets). The boat has a large stern deck that holds the net. One end of the net is connected to the boat; the other is connected to a smaller skiff. When we are ready to make a "set," our captain gives the word, we release the line tying the skiff to the stern, and our skiff driver pulls away in the opposite direction.  The skiff functions as a sort of mobile anchor, executing smaller maneuvers, and maintaining the shape of the set.

The net is stacked so as to easily roll off the back deck; the skipper lays it out, trying to achieve a long arc (usually off a point or at the mouth of a bay). Our net is 250 fathoms long (a fathom is about 6 feet) and contains four main elements: a floating cork line, a weighted lead line, the purse line, and the webbing itself. Between the corks and the leads, there are up to 20 fathoms of webbin. The leads stretch the web down towards the bottom. Since the lead line is shorter than the cork line, the bottom of the net automatically puckers a little.  

When we are towing the net, this creates a physical barrier and an area of higher pressure that work to push the fish back up toward the surface and the center of the set. Since we set against the direction the salmon are instinctively swimming, those that get spit back up in this manner generally turn to swim back into the net.

Once the net is laid out, we tow for 20-30 minutes. Eventually (as is actually happening now) the captain and the skiffman turn their vessels toward each other, turning the arc into a circle and closing the net. It's at this point that the purse line enters the process. The purse line actually runs through a series of steel rings that sit below the leads and are connected to them by shorter lines.

One end of the purse line is kept on deck from the beginning of the set; the other is spliced to the "king ring" at the opposite end of the net. Once we have hauled the king ring on deck, we begin tightening using a powerful deck winch (usually referred to by one of a variety of strictly non-PC terms, the tamest of which is "gypsy-head"). As we tighten the purse, the natural pucker in the bottom of the net is exaggerated to cinch the bottom of the net together.  At this point we've got something that resembles an upside-down purse. 

From here, John and I finish hauling in and stacking the net, the skipper makes some disparaging remarks about Paul*, and we hopefully dump a few thousand pounds of salmon into our fish hold.

Here's a fast-forward version of a set as seen from the deck. Though the boat in the video has a slightly different set up, they're using essentially the same method we do to Catch Salmon.

*In the skipper's (and Paul's) defense, I actually overheard the boss say that Paul has a pretty good touch with the skiff, which can be a difficult monster for a greenhorn to handle. In fact, despite all his barking, he is fond of saying that he has no complaints about any of us newbs or our work, other than the fact that we "can't keep his damn galley from looking like a ****in pigsty!" 

Freedom Fishing

7:00 pm, July 3

Left port yesterday late afternoon and arrived at Ruth Bay near 7pm. Whales all over the place so capt. decided not to set. Guys & I chilled and had a few beers. Watched The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence. Big surprise, John fell asleep within five. Paul stayed up till the end with me though. P-Dubs said it was one of the few John Wayne movies he hadn't seen; neither of us much impressed (A soundstage for a highway robbery? Really John Ford? You know you could have done better); even so, it was interesting to see Wayne and James Stewart playing together.

Woke up this morning at 4:10 am to the engine starting. As usual, John (on our boat—not Wayne) rolled out of his bunk cursing in eagerness to winch up the anchor before Paul or I were even coherent enough to realize how godforsaken early it was. I actually did pretty well this morning. Fell out of my own bunk and straight upstairs trading night shorts for the pants I've worn the last four days—and a shirt looks like I've been working in it the last four weeks. After pulling clothes and boots on, we generally sit around slack-faced pouring coffee down our faces and eating cereal. Today was pretty much the same—me slightly more energized by the thought and awe of Alaskan summer daybreak.

Sunrise was pretty enough that I snapped some pics during the first set; boats silhouetted against the horizon hauling in their nets and all that. Did pretty well on our first few sets. The fourth was possibly our largest yet. We estimated upwards of 400 fish (approx. 1800-2000 lbs).

Later in the day, a giant kelp monster assaulted us. For some reason there's all kinds of shit floating in the bay today. We threw one giant log and plenty of smaller drift logs over the net. But this kelp monster: we had already avoided two huger floating islands of the stuff, our Skipper dodging around them in our less-than-sporty 88,000 lb. trawler. But this thing managed to swamp into the net, costing us nearly an hour of exhaustion slamming around giant balls of slimy tentacle and tail before we could shuck it from the boat. For our pains, the monster shit behind it 64 fish onto the deck. Thanks a lot mother eff—uh, Mother Nature... Chalk it up to a coastal karmic return.

I said we made what was probably our largest haul this morning; ironically enough, our haul in on the kelp catastrophe was much heavier than that set.

Suffice it to say, three sets later we haven't seen a dramatic increase back to that othwer stellar set. It's getting late and we're pretty friggin exhausted. I'm finishing this entry while we tow on what will be our last set unless we have a large enough pay off to warrant one more go.

It occurs to me that words like "haul" "set" etc. might not make much sense yet since I haven't described the basic process of what we do as commercial salmon fishermen. I'll give a brief run-down of how the job works in the next entry.

Just made that "maybe final" set. 161 fish = here we go for another round. We've been at it for over 15 hours today, but a haul like that most def keeps you motivated.

5:45 am, July 4

Today I imagine a slightly modified Neil Sedaka hit as our morning anthem. Because "Waking up is Hard to do" ::groans from the audience::, even with the sound of a 400 lb. lunk of cast iron and 750 lb. chain chain screaming just over your head as John raises the anchor. This morning I actually covered my head with my arms as I heard the thing clanging up into its rest right above the foc'sole, simultaneously reflecting how useless those arms would be if the the anchor should somehow break through its housing and the steel deck to crash our sleeping quarters.  

Such morbid considerations only go so far towards getting me mobile in the morning (I have nearly as strong a tolerance for alarm clocks as the Dread Pirate Roberts had for iocane powder, ask my former roommates). It did help when the Skipper barked for someone to winch up the skiff (usually my chore). Paul beat me to that one. I got the Skipper's bagel and took first deck prep to feel like I was contributing to our little wake up routine.

Besides, I gave the guys a little serenade. Chasing cereal and coffee with my breakfast cocktail (multivitamin, ibuprofen for hand de-inflammation, adderall), I grabbed the iPod right before the first set. When all else fails, nothing beats a little Italian Opera  for getting the brain and bones moving. As a bonus, my machine shuffled out some ocean-appropriate Jack Johnson.

And before you know it, I'm humming along to a glaring Alaskan sunrise over Afognak Island, then I'm typing a mile a minute, then it's time to go out and haul in our first set...

Good morning Independence Day.

Memo: Good news on the crimped hands front! About ten days ago John and I were feeling the tendinitis through our wrists down to the elbow and all through our hands. In addition to the bald, not-let-you-sleep-more-than-a-couple-hours-at-a-stretch pain, there was the tingling and eventual numbness in most digits and through the palm to get excited about. Boss consoled us that it would go away in three or four years, that we were pansies anyway, but that a wrist brace might help (wrist brace: alternately referred to as a bowling sleeve—John says it's sort of inspired him to join a league when he gets back home).

Four days ago I realized I was waking up in the middle of the night more from the sound of the engine than from the ache. Two more days and I got really excited when I realized I could feel my pinkie and ring finger. Mostly it's all in the fingertips now: it's the little things.

Una notita

Just hit up the local biblioteca on the tail end of two hours of "personal time" the bossman gave us before we leave port this evening (For "personal time" see also, "sharing a few pitchers over a couple games of poorly played pool" and "our captain wants to get the hell away from us for a few hours").

Thought I would chime in with some memorable quotes from the day, though...

Paul (Crewmate): Hey, Bob just to remind you, I need to go to the post office to mail a package for my girlfriend--
Bob (i.e. the Skipper): You already told me that once; you think I f****in care?

--------

Bob: John! Are you keeping an eye on the lazarette like I told you?
John (Crewmate): Hey, there's a joint floating in the water?

--------
(from 2 weeks ago...)


Paul is working with the skipper in the tophouse. As his hand, recently lacerated, crosses the skipper's field of view...


Skipper: Ah! Get that away from me you aids-infested butt-pirate.

(sorry, but remember I offered warnings in the last post. As the journalists say, it's just my job to report the news....)


So that's all for today folks. Hopefully tomorrow will find us taking in massive hauls of red and dog salmon in Duck Bay. More likely, it will find my crewmates waking up in the bunk to my late night dreams (complete with yells) of stacking the net, repairing the boat, fixing the net after whale-events. You know, just the usual.

Salmon Slaying

23 June, 2011

A little over three weeks ago I shrugged up from a naplike stint on a bank of vinyl gate seats in the Anchorage airport to go wash up for my flight into Kodiak, Alaska. I've found that most states of exhaustion can be relatively and at least momentarily shaken off with a doze, maybe a bite to eat, and a solid scrubbing of the teeth, face, and hair. If you are male, and have the opportunity to shave, this also seems to help. I remember the staff psychiatrist at a small university I attended for a while who advised the students to do things like look in the mirror every day and say This is a sharp looking guy! I like this guy! or walk around the school self-talking, What a great place! I'm really glad to be at this place. He also told us that brushing one's teeth, whether or not you've eaten recently, is an effective way to enhance one's mental state.

So while I can't say that I hit the tarmac of the Kodiak airport full of energy, at least I showed up at my job with a nice little hygienically sound endorphin boost to get me through the last puddle jump of a 24-hour travel day.

What job? Well, turns out I managed to land a spot on a commercial salmon fishing boat for the summer. I've decided to fire up this old blog so I have somewhere to share stories with folks back home. It also doubles nicely as an open-access locale wherin to dump info, pics, and digressive narration for my fellow crew members and myself to remember.

Back to the arrival though...I especially appreciated that little wake-me-up after deplaning, driving the ten or so minutes into Kodiak, and throwing my stuff onboard what was to become my and my crewmates' project for the next two plus weeks: F/V La Mer. A 48 foot steel-hulled trawler outfitted for seining, the La Mer (yes, the "the" is redundant) draws about 8 feet of water, is blue with a grey aluminum tophouse and, as I was reflecting the other day, bears a remarkable resemblance to her skipper: Bob Bowser.

Bob himself led me to start comparing his project and possessions to his person. Bob is 6' 2" and about 370 pounds. Discussing the galley (read: kitchen, dining, and sometime sleeping area) that had been completely taken apart and not yet put back together, Bob mentioned that he might have gone a little overboard when building the supports for the old galley dining table, but that he liked to make things bulky and strong. I already knew Bob worked in his offseason as a machinist and blacksmith, making it an easy stretch to imagine him as some jolly Phoenix-Hephaestus mashup, emerging every Spring from the fires of who knows what subterranean forge to exchange his leather apron and drill press for Carhart overalls and Cabella's rain jacket, shake hands with Neptune, and chase the Chinook down the Aleutians with his great net of steel.

Of course Bob himself, an excellent storyteller, tends to eschew such overblown descriptions. And of course we tow our nylon-webbed net around Kodiak Island—far east of the Aleutians—and don't intentionally fish for Chinook. Still, the 40 lb. steel triangle and crossbar lying at the end of our float (one of the old table supports) speaks of a preference and a man that, if not a demi-god, is at least larger than what some of us call normal life.

More about Bob later. And believe me, there is plenty. However, I better get around to some snapshots  of the last three weeks before we get to wherever the hell the boat is currently taking us (because, as is typical in Bobworld, we have no idea) and start catching fish.

So, to backtrack again, my rather long day of airline travel began in Augusta at 11am EST, May 31^st. After Charlotte, Phoenix, and Anchorage, I got to Kodiak at 7:45am Alaska time (just about 12 noon EST) June 1. Bob was waiting in his midsize Dodge pickup. I threw my single carryon and bookbag in the bed, and we drove to town. I at least three and a half hours talking with Bob on the phone to prep myself and my expectations for the trip. While I knew there was some carpentry work waiting for me and the other crew, I still held out some kind of hope that the boat would be in better shape than we found it.

Bob moors his boat bow first in the slip he has leased from the harbor for more than 15 years. From the float, you approach the La Mer on her port side (left, if you're facing the front or bow of the boat). Since she's a fishing vessel (f/v) fitted for seining, the galley and wheelhouse are forward, up towards the bow and foc'sole. This creates a large open stern deck from which you can easily lay out and draw in your net while underway. Additionally, this give you space for a large belowdecks fish hold midship (the fish hold on the La Mer can hold about 20,000 lbs of fish). Of course none of that was important to explain to a crew that didn't even have a place to eat, so we'll get to it later.

In the meantime, when I got there, the backdeck was full of work litter: some rickety saw horses, a couple power tools, sheets of plywood, 2x4s, totes, extension cords, rigging lines, boxes... As I stepped inside, what still remained of the galley was disheartening to anyone hoping to go fishing at...well, almost any point: on the starboard, the old diesel stove, single counter, and sink were piled with last years sauces, seasonings and dishes—in addition to assorted tools and a healthy coating of dirt, grease and sawdust. On the port side was Bob's old bunk, now a funky memory foam mattress piled with all manner of beanbag cushion, pillow, man-funk smelling sheet, junkbox, and—of course—the odd tool. As I mentioned, I was instructed to toss my stuff into the forecastle or foc'sole (here a lot of people pronounce it fox-ole). Of the three bunks, only one wasn't piled with boxes of hydraulic parts, small appliances, books, and tools. In contrast to my 21 years of experience in the Karin Phillips Cleaning Brigade, I could see that—as I expected—most guys that had gone before me here weren't exactly preoccupied with neatness.

After breakfast at a local diner, I started working on Bob to figure out what the hell we were going to make out of the cluster-chuck that was our living and dining area. It took a few stories and digressions, but I think on that first day we got a floor in on top of the angle iron frame someone had constructed, and started brainstorming the benches and table.

The next night Paul Wall (not actually his last name) showed up, followed within a few hours by Big John (slightly smaller since he stopped playing D-1 football and cut his calories). We all went to El Chicano for some mid-level tex-mex and high-level oogling (the two most attractive girls any of us have seen in Kodiak both work there). By the next morning, we were working full bore to get the boat ready for the season. As the crew of the Sisiutul sat patching their net in the slip next to us, prepping to leave port in mere days, we were staring at two plus weeks of work before we would even fire our engine (let alone begin to rig fishing tackle).

This post is getting almost as long as the summer days here... Of course, even that attempt to finish up leads to another digression: we're two days past the solstice now and the sun barely sets before peeking back over the horizon ("dark" is fairly unknown, outside of the cave that is our sleeping quarters). Between this overabundance of daylight, Paul and John's overweening desire to start fishing, and our collectively strong work ethic (and a healthy supply of adderall), we spent these first weeks extending Dolly's workday past 11pm most nights. It's a strange feeling to drive about looking for an open restaurant at midnight with dusk still settling, briefly, in.

So to make a long story of long hours short...er, here is a list of some of the projects we've undertaken (organized with loose attention to chronology and project type—some of the carpentry and skiff projects were done by, or with the assistance of, Bob's friend and former crew member, Rick). More, and plausibly more interesting, stories to follow:

Carpentry & Such:

Installed plywood galley floor

Built and installed fore and aft galley benches and backs, and starboard box seat

Scrubbed and organized kitchen

Cleared out foc'sole/bunks (moved and stored shit, vacuumed, put in new mattresses...found 8 bucks loose change for beer fund...)

Cut storage hatches in galley floor and benches

John ordered into foc'sole to organize wrenches and sockets

Cleaned out old galley bunk (topside)

Attempt to fix stereo system

Tacked up foc'sole entryway carpeting

Built boot bench

Installed assist water pump for toilet

Cleaned and zipped hynautic and hydraulic hoses

Rewired main switch panel (running lights, new bilge pump alarm, etc)

Installed new/rebuilt main throttle controls

Rewired foc'sole bunklights and fans

John ordered back to the engine room and wrenches

Rebuilt pots n' pans drawer

Installed new outlets and light switch

Took boxes of boat junk to warehouse

Covered bench faces, etc w/formica

Installed linoleum flooring in galley

Sanded rust off stove

Cleaned rust and sawdust off kitchen counters and dishes

Connected wiring to previously installed outlets to control panel

Built roll-proof shelf for coffee-maker

Re-rebuilt angry-John-proof pots n' pans drawer

Installed trim on all new carpentry

Cleaned and sorted kitchen area again

Took more shit out to warehouse

Replaced hydraulic deck hoses

Replaced more hydraulic deck hoses

Installed macerator pump (i.e. shit and toilet paper chewer) in head (i.e. toilet)

Installed mini-fridge under kitchen counter

Replaced fuel pump in boat

Brought boxes of needed boat junk back from warehouse

Refit topside bunk with pillows and sheet

Foil-wrapped stove exhaust

Replaced vhf antenna on mast

Moved control and exterior light switches from galley to tophouse

Installed new mast lights

Cleaned and zip-tied wires to mast lights

Washed & cleaned engine room

Removed 200 lb boom winch (to drop off for rebuild @ shop)

Replaced rebuilt boom winch and lines

In Dry Dock

Pressure washed and grinded entire boat below water line

Primed and painted boat bottom

Changed Prop

Installed zinc plates (corrosion prevention)

Splash-zoned all potential net snagging spots on boat bottom

Heated and hammered dented edge of keel

Skiff

Replaced busted starter

Almost blew up skiff (meanwhile frying new starter)

Replaced fuel filter

Installed functional new starter

Skiff almost blew up again on first trip around the bay leading to...

Replaced skiff impeller

Installed new kill switch, horn, and temperature and oil gauges

Fixed bilge pump

Skipper accidentally fried new horn, and temperature and oil gauges

Replaced main exhaust hose

Restored jet bucket to functionality

Replaced busted side bumpers, and inflated all side bumpers

Miscellaneous

Used grinders and chisels to break welds on 2800 lbs of steel bars (ballast) in fish hold

Removed steel ballast using cannery crane and forklift attachment

Cut and fit skewed table top (to match unplump, non-squared seating area)

Welded nuts to table mount; installed pedestal for tabletop

Replaced pump in fish hold

Installed new freezer on tophouse

Cut and installed wet/dry runner for galley and grip runner for table

Picked up net from cannery

Sewed up holes in net and lead line

Ran new purse line

Fabricated new pelican/tow line for net

Coast Guard Dog & Pony Show

Prepped survival suits

Rewelded and refit inflatable life raft release cage

Partially replaced EPIRP satellite system

Replaced entire EPIRP satellite system again (during coastie inspection)

A brief asterisk: as I'm spending my summer with a bunch of sailors, the humor and language are apt to flow over into my typespeak. Just sayin...

Asterisk number two: I'll be uploading these things as I can whenever we pull into town and I can't make it out to the library. This was written about ten days ago. Since then, we've had more or less seven days of fishing—some of it very good—and are starting to see some return on our work. It's kicking our asses, and John and I sleep with our hands crimped over our chests like meningitis sufferers (coiling the net 7-10 times a day leaves most greenhorns with at least temporary tendinitis), but morale is high, we're making money, and we wake up every morning to vast Alaskan blue and green land- and seascapes. We're back in port for two days now to fix a skiff seal and better repair our net where a whale busted through it...

See, I told you there would be more interesting stories.